I Want to Go Home
by Richan MMI
Summary: Harry Potter is determined to move forward. Up to OotP. Four ficlets where Harry gathers his own 'Army.' The fifth story is about the aftermath, eight years after Harry wishes he could go home. Mention of HPLL in last story, no pairing in first four.
1. Ficlet: I Want to Go Home

Drabble: I Want to Go Home  
Author: Richan  
Rating: T (for entire series), K for this  
Spoilers: thru OotP  
Warnings: a little angsty,  
Word count: 227  
Disclaimer: Don't own.  
Notes: Four ficlets before the war truly begins. The fifth story takes place eight years after OotP (or six years after the war ends).

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Harry had wanted to leave this place. The damp air seemed to permeate even his thoughts, let along the ragged clothes he was wearing. He lay his head back against the wall and looked out at the others across from him.

Remus gave a small smile before looking down at his lap. McGonagall nodded stiffly in that way of hers that Harry didn't always quite understand.

But it was Dumbledore, wise, old Dumbledore, who knew more than anyone else, who refused to look at Harry.

Of course, it was his fault that all of this had happened. If the headmaster had told Harry what he needed to know, the Dursleys wouldn't be dead and Harry wouldn't be stuck here at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Now he was stuck in the kitchen of the dingy, old house. Harry could still hear Sirius' laughter, and almost smell the scent of his godfather's shampoo.

But he wasn't here, and Harry was.

Last summer, Harry had come to think of the house as home, because Sirius was there, waiting with welcoming arms. Without him, though, it was just another house, with Harry on the outside looking in, wanting something he couldn't ever have in this lifetime.

He just wanted a home to go to. One where Sirius was there, eagerly awaiting to hear about Harry's day.


	2. Ficlet: To Not Look Back

Ficlet: To Not Look Back

* * *

It wasn't very often that Harry knew the entire story of what was going on. Ever since he had first read the envelope that read 'Harry Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs,' he'd had the feeling that he may never know the whole story. Now he did, and he most certainly wished he didn't. Privet Drive hadn't exactly been home, but then again, nothing really hadn't been since Sirius had offered one. Still, it was better than here, even if nothing could be. Better than this, and knowing the truth or at least what passed for it.

Remus had sat down next him, eventually, even after the scowls Harry had worn on his face to discourage _any_ adult from attempting to speak to him. Harry merely tolerated his presence, knowing that he wouldn't say anything until Harry wished him to. He supposed that might be a good thing in some ways.

Dumbledore started the meeting now that everyone had _safely_ arrived back at 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry inwardly scoffed. _Safe,_ he says. _Safe is not when three people are dead, no matter that I often wished they were. I will_ not _be taking the blame for this._

It most certainly had not been his fault that a Death Eater had followed Vernon home to discover where Harry lived in the summers. And it hadn't been his fault, either, when the bastard lord himself showed up on Privet Drive to off Harry once and for all.

Harry had held his own when he discovered what was going on, frankly caring less about being expelled from school when he'd just seen three flashes of awful green light fell the only relatives he had left. He had just taunted Voldemort about being a sorry-arsed loser when Dumbledore and the rest of the Order rode in like the cavalry they thought they were.

Well, they weren't. Harry just _knew_ that they were the clean up crew. And he was the cavalry, saving their pathetic hides.

Harry ignored Dumbledore's blathering, looking around the faces gathered in the dark room. Remus would follow him, he knew, but he had to find others to make it work. The former Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts would follow Harry blindly because he was the last link to the past, even if he did hold some form of affection for Harry. Their relationship was like fourth cousins who only met a few times each year for the important occasions. He didn't know, exactly, having never met any fourth cousins at occasions where he'd never been invited.

Of the Weasleys, only Bill returned his look, Molly and Arthur deferring to Dumbledore. Charlie wasn't here, and they didn't think Fred and George weren't _old_ enough to join. So, there were possibly four more. He wasn't about to ask Ron or Hermione or any of the DA. They were too _young_ to understand what was going on. Out of them all, Ginny was a possibility. Only she had seen horrors that the others could only see in their worst nightmares. Harry dreamed them nightly.

Tonks also returned his stare, only after a tear dripped from the side of a violent, violet-colored eye. She alone, out of the numerous members of the Order, had offered any _empathy_ about Harry's _loss._ _She_ had lost a cousin in a family where being good was an oddity, and being burned out of the family tapestry was the ultimate gift. Harry had welcomed that into himself to horde with all the other memories he had of Sirius, to look through at a later date when he could let himself grieve.

Now was not the time for grieving, though. Now was the time to strive towards a future where Harry could be in peace. Where he could go forth and not have to listen to stupid platitudes and waffling public adoration/hate. And for that to happen, he had to get Snape.

Harry looked at the sullen potions master across the room from him, willing him to look in his direction. Snape would be the one to know if all of Harry's plans were worthless, or if they would be exactly what they needed to get rid of the bastard who had taken everything Harry had ever cared for and warped. When finally he did, Harry put everything he had ever been in his stare.

_Now is not the time to look back, Snape,_ Harry thought as he held the man's gaze. _Now is the time that action proves what is worth saving. Necessity is the drive behind our strength. This is the time for being who we are, without having to paint a pretty picture for the rest of the world, and that is all that we can hope for._


	3. Ficlet: To Know One's Enemy

Ficlet: To Know One's Enemy

* * *

"Do you know why I hated you all these years?"

Harry turned to look at the man who had spoken, shaking his head.

"Because, even at age eleven, you were the type of person who would one day lead everybody. And I have never been like that."

He narrowed his eyes at the man. "What makes you think that? I've seen you stand in front of a class and tell us that we're going to brew something that could, potentionally, kill us halfway through the process."

Snape chuckled mirthlessly. "That is called using fear as a persuasive tool, Potter." His lips half-formed a sneer. "You, on the other hand, were made for leading."

Harry snorted. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that when I was stuffed into my cupboard for ten years," he said, sarcastically.

The potions master glared. "That is precisely why you lead us, Potter. You know what it is like to be on the outside."

He leaned closer to Harry, who felt like he should move back, but couldn't.

"That is the reason why you are the leader against the Dark Lord. Your childhoods were not all that different from each other. It is the choice you made when you arrived at Hogwarts that the two paths diverged."

Harry thought on it, coming to the conclusion that, maybe, Snape was right about this. It didn't mean he was going to trust everything he said. After all, Snape had his own agenda and always would.

He nodded. "Very well. I concede on that point."

Snape straightened up and his mouth turned into as near a smile as Harry had ever seen. "I believe that with that you have proved yourself worthy of being called a leader. Pity the dark lord and Dumbledore have never been able to compromise."

Harry watched him leave, back straight and robes flowing in the showy style Snape had perfected. He remained where he was standing, thinking over everything that had happened from the time he was rushed from the Dursleys in the middle of the attack to now, being at Hogwarts for his sixth year and almost at the end of that.

_Well,_ he thought, _I might as well get started on being a_ leader. _Although I doubt Snape is going to like this._ He headed up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, to catch Ron before Quidditch practice. This was going to need some strategy.


	4. Ficlet: One Step Forward

Ficlet: One Step Forward

* * *

Harry oftentimes wondered if he was really sane or not. There was the matter of growing up with the Dursleys. There was the fact that he'd almost died more times that he could count on one hand. Then there was the fact that he'd _willingly_ asked Snape to join him.

It had taken quite a bit for Snape to even listen to Harry. But he had eventually listened and had conceded that Harry had a point.

Harry had gotten every single person on his list, with Tonks bringing Kingsly Shacklebolt into the equation. Which had been a welcome surprise, and had added to Harry's growing concern of whether or not he could pull this off.

Now, there was one more person he wanted to bring in, and he _was_ going to do anything he could.

Percy Weasley.

Percival Ignatius Weasley. Who sold his own family for the proverbial fourty gold pieces.

Word had it that Percy had disappeared off the face of the earth, but Harry knew better. He knew in the way Bill spoke with his body about his 'middle' brother. He knew it in the way the twins gave a 'smile' about the fun they'd had with their Big Head brother.

Each Weasley had had a hiding place at the Burrow, and Harry knew that Percy was no different. And as soon as he could do so, he was heading there to talk to Percy. Ron had told him many times about hiding in the attic with only the ghoul for company, trying to avoid Fred and George on one of their random rampages.

And so it was the first weekend of his sixth year at Hogwarts that found Harry scrounging around the abandoned Burrow, the lopsided fourth floor that housed Ron's bedroom leaning just a little more to the right than it had been two years earlier. Harry had escaped his friends and under the headmaster's careful eye by simply saying that he was going off with Neville. Neville would never say anything, especially since Harry had given him some idea as to what was happening.

Wand firmly in hand, Harry burst through the door into the kitchen and turned right. Percy should be just off the kitchen in a small pantry, where Mrs. Weasley had said she kept her cooking books and the biscuits she made specifically for Percy when he'd been younger.

"What do you want?" a scratchy voice greeted him as he opened the door.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the scruffy picture presented to him. He would bet the entire fortune underneath Gringotts that Percy Weasley had never looked this bad before.

"It certainly wasn't for a cuppa," he finally answered.

Pale blue eyes, so much like Ron's, unfocused for the briefest of moments before glaring at Harry. "Then why are you here?"

Harry kicked at the pile of blankets shoved off into the corner. "To get your arse moving and do something, for a start."

Percy flinched and drew himself up into a mockery of the stance he'd held at the second task of the tournament. "And what gives you so much as a by-leave to come here and tell me what to do?" he asked in an indignent voice.

Harry leaned in close, eyes staring into Percy's with an intensity gleaned off of Snape's Occlumency lessons.

"I am here, Percival, to tell you that you have reparations to make, as well as an obligation as a light wizard to do all you can to stop what you helped start."

Percy shrank at that, seeming to fold his tall frame into that of a child's. "I don't..." He shook his head. "I don't... How...?"

"You put one foot forward like the rest of us," Harry said simply. "And the first step you make is up to you. However, I do believe that it should be in the direction of your mother."

"But..."

Harry glared at him. "You threw your own family away, Percy!" he shouted in the other man's face. "You gave up what I would give my _magic_ for! And it's killing you." He pointed to the horde of tinned food and candles scattered about the small room. "You can't forgive yourself until you reconcile with the parents who have always tried their best to do what's right. It may not always be easy, but they've accomplished more than Fudge and Umbridge will ever do in a thousand lifetimes."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to get himself back in control, as Percy hung his head.

"You know what to do, Percy. You can either sit here for the rest of your life, moaning about what could have been, if only things were a little different, or you can get off your arse and do something about it."

Percy still didn't look up.

Harry's jaw clenched and he forced himself to relax. "You know where to find me, Percy. I do suggest, however, you say nothing of me coming here to anyone you speak to."

At that Percy lifted his head just enough to look at Harry.

Green eyes narrowed. "I mean it. And I will hear if you do." He waved his wand in a casual manner at the mess as he turned from the doorway back into the kitchen. "Just make sure you use a good de-lousing spell before you go anywhere."

Harry left the Burrow not looking back. It may take another week, but it definitely looked like Percy could be counted in on his plans.


	5. Fic: Coming Home

Title: Coming Home  
Warnings: mention of character death  
Pairings: past HP/LL  
Takes place eight years after _I Want to Go Home_.

* * *

Harry looked out at his garden, wondering if he should renew the scarecrow charm again. The crows were out in force at this time of year, but his little garden was kept free of the pests that landed in the neighboring crops. Several of the farmers that had great tracts of land asked how he managed his small plot, but Harry wouldn't admit to the muggles that he used magic. 

After all, he'd come here to get away from the magic.

The last battle had taken so many things from Harry that he didn't want to stay and remember. Remember his friends of whom had fallen in the fight, or to remember what he'd had to do to stay alive to end it all against Voldemort.

"Dad!" a little voice called from the other room as the screen door slammed shut. A sweaty, black-haired child ran into the kitchen, his school bag hanging off one shoulder as a grubby hand held out a paper. "Look! I got an A!"

Harry smiled and crouched down to pull the little boy into a hug. "Congratulations, babe. I knew you could do it."

"Thanks, Dad!" The five year old squirmed in Harry's arms. "Can I go play outside?"

He released his son, with an admonishment to stay away from the cat, who was being very protective of her newborn kittens.

"I'm not stupid, Dad."

Harry heaved a sigh as the door slammed again.

"I hear Sirius is home," came a voice from the stairs that led into the kitchen.

He turned to greet Remus, who was carefully coming down the stairs, while hiding his frown. The curse of the wolf was taking a heavier and heavier toll on his father's best friend, and it pained Harry to see him in this condition. He wished he could do something for Remus, but knew that the older man had resigned himself to this slow kind of death. There were no promises on either side, but Harry wished that he could help.

Remus slowly walked over to the table and carefully sat down. "When will Bill be back?"

"Thursday," Harry answered as he gathered together a teapot and cups, anticipating that Remus would wish for tea. "He said that it would take another day over in England to finish everything. I think that he's trying to say goodbye."

Remus frowned in the face of Harry's enforced lightness. "Are you afraid that he'll stay?"

Harry shook his head. "He won't. I know that he can't stay there any more than we can. I'm just afraid that he doesn't want to stay _here,_ either. That he'll want to go back to Egypt." He sat down heavily in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

Remus reached over and patted Harry's free hand. "He'll come back, then, Harry."

He looked up at the ceiling as he snorted. "Yes. I'm sure he will stay with the man who caused a rift in his family. The same rift that ended in the deaths of three brothers and the possible insanity of a fourth one. I am also sure that he wants to stay with the man who is responsible for the breach in the British wizarding world, of which I don't think it will ever heal. I'm also the one who caused a school that, for over a thousand years, taught the best and worst of that country's magical students to disappear from sight. Not because I destroyed the building, but because I had to use its magic to defeat my worst enemy!"

"Don't forget that you are also the man who healed him when Fleur died," Remus softly reminded Harry. "That you are the one who saved millions of people from dying, simply because you did what had to be done. You are not the one who was responsible for all of that, Harry. You, more than anyone else, are a victim of circumstance."

Harry slumped but perked up a little as Sirius' voice piped in through the window, under which lay the sandbox. His son was the brightest spot in his world, so far away from the vast mountains of Scotland or the war-torn visages of London. He didn't ask for the miracle that was gifted to him in the form of the little bundle of energy, but he was grateful for it all the same.

"Do you miss her?" Remus asked, when it was obvious that Harry was staring at his son.

"A little less everyday," he replied mournfully. "But I won't ever not miss her." And how could he? Luna had been the levity Harry had needed when the war had come to his doorstep. He had loved her ability to see what was written between the lines, even if her scatteredness scared everyone else off. She had given him hope when he had none of his own, and she had been next to him whenever given the chance.

Harry had cursed himself when he found she had gone after him on that mission. Two weeks after giving birth, and she had went after him when word came back to headquarters that Harry had been taken by Death Eaters. He really hadn't been, but the ruse had worked like Voldemort had wanted, and Luna had been found tortured and barely alive. Harry had done everything he could to make her well, but Luna had brushed him off, saying that it was time for her to move on.

He'd been devastated by her death, from the moment the last light left her from where she lay in his arms, to when he'd had to answer his little boy's questions as to why he didn't have a mum. His friends had been there, but as they, too, died, Harry had locked himself up. Only with the exception of Remus and Bill did he actually _feel_ something other than guilt. And with Bill, he felt it was only a matter of time before he began to feel guilty about everything. He already was, in small ways.

As he lay in bed that night, the small noises of the large farmhouse settling were the only things heard. Remus' bedroom was on the next floor, and Sirius slept like a log with nary a whisper. It all left Harry alone with his thoughts.

What if things had gone differently? He always wondered what the outcome of the war would have been if he'd been able to talk Dumbledore into seeing things his way. Instead, the headmaster had been one of the first of Voldemort's victims in his quest to get to Harry.

What if Harry had been able to persuade his friends to join him, instead of fighting with Ron's parents and the Order? He had regretted the fact that he had to break off their relationship, but he hadn't been able to handle the recrimination in Hermione's voice, or Ron's threatening tones. Neville had still been there for him, but now he was buried next to his mother and father. Ginny... his best friend's little sister had taken the split the hardest, going so far as to ambush Harry. Instead of confronting him, she had landed herself in hospital for three weeks. After that, she had refused to acknowledge Harry's existence.

A noise brought him out of his musings, and he reached for his wand. Gripping it firmly, Harry sat up as the door opened.

"You awake?"

Harry relaxed at the smooth tenor voice. Putting his wand back on the nightstand, he rose from the bed and made his way towards his friend.

"You're back early."

Bill nodded as Harry turned on the small lamp in the sitting area of the master suite. The red head looked exhausted, with bags under the blue eyes, and there was an air of weariness that surrounded him. Harry conjured up a glass of water for both of them as he bade his friend to sit.

"How did it go?"

Bill shook his head. "At first, not very well. Mum somehow found out I'd come to London and tried to yell at me. Percy was off to the side, glaring at me for having the gall to step foot where Mother could see me. Later, I found out that she's been in and out of St. Mungo's for treatment for manic depression this past year. But, it was really hard to see her like that. She's lost a lot of weight. Percy... well, he tries to take care of her when Dad has to work. He is still trying to make up for abandoning all of us when it came to the end.

"I saw Dad at the Ministry, though. He doesn't blame me for leaving, but he won't leave Mum. He loves her too much to leave her, even when she's having problems remembering who he is when she's all..." Bill waved his hand, and Harry could see that it was hard for him to talk about it.

"What about the other things?" Harry asked after letting Bill calm down.

"It went good," came the answer. "Luna's dad will come and visit around Thanksgiving - he's looking forward to celebrating an American holiday, especially when it involves an odd looking bird. Tonks is doing well, too. She's dating some guy from Italy, and they're planning on taking a vacation together sometime next year. Australia or New Zealand, from what she was saying."

"And George?"

Bill gave a heartrending sigh. "He's doing better from what the doctors tell me. He understands that Fred is gone, but I don't think he really wants to go on. I know what it is to lose someone, but he was never separated from Fred for more than a day before the war."

Harry felt the pressure behind his eyes, signaling another stress headache. Every year, when Bill went to check on things in England, Harry ended up becoming ill after it was over. Part of it was from the guilt Harry felt over what had happened, but a lot of it was because he missed everyone.

He tried to shake it off as he asked, "And Snape?"

"No one's heard from him."

Harry looked at his hands as they lay in his lap. Severus Snape, Potions Master and resolute spy, hadn't been seen since the last battle. He had searched for his... well, mentor, for days - weeks even - but hadn't found a single trace of him.

"Harry?"

He looked up. Shaking his head, he said, "Why don't you go get some sleep. Sirius will probably try to wake you up in the morning."

"Do you know what brings me back here?"

Harry was startled at the question. He eyed his companion carefully, but found nothing but the blank mask that Bill had worn after Fleur's death. "What is it?"

"It's like coming home, Harry. When I'm near you, I feel like I am at Hogwarts again. When you used her magic, she bonded with you, and now that magic flows through your veins. You held yourself together when even the strongest man would have collapsed, and you held us all when we were having troubles ourselves." Bill shook his head. "I love you, Harry. You were always my parents' unofficial seventh son, and I know you are my brother in all but blood.

"Harry, you are what kept me from going over the edge. And I... I can't lose that. Wherever you go, I'll be right behind you."

Harry shook, even as Bill embraced him. He could almost smell the odor of London clinging to the red head's clothes, and for a second it took him back to when he was first introduced to Diagon Alley, Hagrid pointing out Gringotts and Ollivander's Wand Shoppe. Then it blended into that terrible day when hundreds had died and Voldemort finally lay defeated at Harry's feet. A sob tore through him, but he didn't let it out. He never had, not once in his entire life. Not even when Luna died, telling him that she loved him.

"Let it out, Harry," Bill softly said in his ear. "A home is love and happiness and sadness all rolled up into one package. You just need to let yourself grieve."

It all came rushing out then, everything Harry had bottled up over the last two decades. Finding out he was a wizard. The Stone. The Chamber. Being shunned by Ron. Cedric's death. _Sirius'_ death. The split in the Order. Finding - and losing - Luna. Seeing Hermione fall under Malfoy's wand. Watching as Voldemort fell under the last spell. Coming home to this small town in the middle of nowhere, blending into the American landscape along with a dozen refugees from the war.

Lifting his head, Harry looked into Bill's blue eyes with his own bloodshot green. "You're right." He looked over to where Sirius' kindergarten picture rested. The gap-toothed smile with bright blue-green eyes brought a small grin to his lips. "You're absolutely right."

Fin.


End file.
